


With New Eyes

by luckie_dee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Kinktober 2017, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 00:59:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12570128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: A few days late forKinktoberday 26:mirror sex. So porn, but it turned out more fluffy than kinky when all was said and done. Takes place during Bitty's visit to Providence prior to the start of Year 3.





	With New Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Mirror sex, intergluteal sex, handjobs, mentions of blow jobs and anal sex, swearing, and pondering of virginity as a concept. Unbetaed.

If Bitty could find a way to make a pie there, he’s fairly sure he could live in Jack’s luxurious shower.

Sadly, in reality, the flour would wash away, the crust would never flake, and Bitty has no choice but to turn off the water and step out into the bathroom. He towels most of the moisture out of his hair, then slings the thick terrycloth around his waist and moves to stand in front of the vanity. It too is lavish — gleaming quartz stretching back to a mirror that runs to the ceiling. Bitty finds his reflection lightly fogged over, but it comes into sharper focus as he brushes his teeth. By the time he straightens up after spitting out a mouthful of foam, he can see himself clearly.

In the mirror, he looks about the same as he remembers. That makes sense — no one _actually_ looks different because they lost their virginity — but some whimsical part of him thinks that there should be something to signify the astounding fact that he’s had sex. With Jack Zimmermann. Two and a half times, by his own count. Bitty thinks that he could probably round up to three, but after the first time Jack had gotten him off back in Madison, he’d been too overwhelmed to do anything except kiss Jack while he’d… finished things off himself.

Luckily, they’d had another chance to be together before he’d put Jack on a northbound plane, and of course, there was last night — the first time they’d been able to be thorough, the first time it hadn’t felt rushed or like some sort of covert operation. And all Bitty has to show for the experience are a few marks purpling his skin. He flushes hot as he catalogs them, but they’ll fade in less than a week. Bitty’s had more lasting reminders from hockey games — hell, from hockey _practice_.

It’s actually better this way, because it’s not like Bitty wants to answer to his mama, or to anyone else. Still, with all apologies to one B. Shitty Knight and virginity-as-a-social-construct be damned, Bitty feels like something has _changed_. Even if only that he can never again look at Jack Zimmermann and think _there is a man I have never had sex with. There is a man I have never made orgasm. There is a man who has never had any part of my anatomy in his mouth_. None of it applies, not anymore.

A polite tap at the door interrupts his wayward musings, and it swings open before Bitty can get out more than a “yeah?”

Jack slips in, and when Bitty meets his eyes in the mirror, his gaze is as sugary as Bitty feels. It’s enough to make heat rise in Bitty’s face, even though he thinks it’s silly for simple eye contact to have such an effect. It _is_ , after all, only the second time they’ve spent any time together since Jack kissed him at the Haus, and apparently three live-and-in-person orgasms isn’t enough to save Bitty from a blush.

“Hey, Bits,” Jack greets him, and it’s in a new, soft voice that Bitty’s still getting used to.

“Hi,” Bitty replies through a smile, equally gentle and joyful. He wants to add a _honey_ or a _sweetheart_ , but he’s still feeling unaccountably shy. Maybe it’s because Jack had walked in just as Bitty was thinking about sex with Jack, or maybe it’s the fact that Jack, despite skipping his morning run, is wearing nothing save the athletic shorts he’d thrown on after getting out of bed. A nearly-naked Jack Zimmermann in NHL-ready condition is a sight for Bitty’s sore, gay eyes. When Jack crosses the room and comes to stand behind him, and most of what Bitty can see is his own body, he’s not quite sure how he measures up.

The thought is pesky, and easy enough to brush to the back of his mind when Jack settles in behind him and slides his hand low across Bitty’s belly, pulling him in. The other catches Bitty’s shoulder and holds firm while Jack nuzzles into Bitty’s damp hair, kisses his temple, and Bitty doesn’t let his eyes drift all the way shut so he can watch it happen. Even those sweet touches are enough to make arousal fizz like carbonation under the warm weight of Jack’s arm. “Coffee’s ready,” Jack rumbles into his ear, and Bitty thrills to the tips of his toes.

As tempting as coffee would be any other morning, Bitty doesn’t move to leave Jack’s embrace, much less the bathroom. Jack doesn’t seem to mind; he just angles down further to nose behind Bitty’s jaw, press his lips there, and drag them down the side of Bitty’s throat. Bitty can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the mirror, even though watching is making him hot all over and embarrassed. Maybe Jack’s just trying to be romantic, and Bitty, in all his youthful inexperience, is making it into something it’s not.

But then Jack’s tongue slips out to lave the place where Bitty’s neck slopes into his shoulder, and he glances up to meet Bitty’s gaze in reflection. His eyes are dark and _oh_ — it’s not just Bitty.

He tightens the curl of his fingers around Jack’s arm, the one slung across his abdomen, and hopes it’s enough to convey his very mutual interest in continuing. Jack must understand, or even if he doesn’t, he lowers his hand from Bitty’s shoulder, slides it down to Bitty’s side, and plucks at the towel around Bitty’s waist. “Can I?” he asks, the words reaching Bitty on damp breath.

Bitty gulps. “Yes,” he says, “yes, Jack, please.” And Jack pulls the towel right off.

It pools at Bitty’s feet as Jack lets out a low, nearly inaudible groan. His eyes, in the mirror, are hungry and downcast, and Bitty flushes again. Hard. “Jack…”

“God, Bits, look at you,” Jack interrupts, his voice strained.

Bitty looks, but not quite at himself. He drops his gaze only as low as his own stomach, where Jack’s hands are splayed across it. They seem huge. They _are_ huge, spanning across Bitty’s torso, pressing hot into his skin. One clutches tighter, and one moves down.

Lord.

Jack touches him lightly at first, running his fingers over Bitty’s thighs, dipping into the juncture between them, tracing over the length of his erection. Bitty lets his eyes flutter shut. The sensation of someone else feeling him _there_ is still _so much_ , and knowing that Jack is watching himself do it is pushing Bitty perilously close to the edge way too quickly. Seeing it himself might end things before they even get started, before Jack can take him back to bed.

Then Jack takes him in a firm-gentle grasp as he lowers his mouth back to Bitty’s neck, and it occurs to Bitty that maybe he doesn’t plan on going anywhere.

The shock of that thought is enough to pull Bitty’s eyes open again, and his breath — already labored — catches in his throat at the sight of them in the mirror. He can’t begin to take in everything, but his gaze catches on Jack’s fingers curled around the edge of his pectoral, Jack’s mouth open against his skin. To his surprise, Jack’s eyes are closed, and he keeps them that way as he kisses back up to the place behind Bitty’s ear. “Are you watching?” he asks. His voice is low and graveled in the way that Bitty knows it gets now, but there’s an underlying note of uncertainty in it.

“I am now,” Bitty says. Wheezes, more accurately.

Jack makes an approving noise. “Is this okay?” He gives Bitty’s cock one slow, smooth stroke.

And Bitty’s eyes snap down to follow the motion.

 _Lord_.

Forget how Jack’s hand looks on Bitty’s stomach; this is nothing short of _obscene_. Bitty flashes instantly from overheated to molten. In some barely-engaged corner of his mind, he wonders if it _should_ be so hot, just a hand on a cock. It’s nothing so scandalous, and he did, after all, have Jack’s head between his legs less than twelve hours ago. And _that_ had been a sight to behold, but in all honesty, Bitty had spent most of his very first blowjob staring at the ceiling, when he didn’t have his eyes squeezed shut. There’s definitely something different about this, in the bright light of the bathroom instead of the dim bedroom, and with the objective distance between himself and his reflection. At the same time, it’s not really objective at all, because Bitty can _feel_ every single thing he’s seeing.

It’s enough to make a boy wish he had a camera.

In response to Jack’s question, Bitty gasps out, “ _Yes_.”

Jack straightens up enough to kiss Bitty’s temple. He’s looking now too, meeting Bitty’s eyes in the mirror, and it makes Bitty’s breath catch again. “Good,” is all he says, and then he sets up a steady but too-slow rhythm on Bitty’s cock.

Bitty watches this time, isn’t sure he could make himself stop even if his reward were front row tickets at every concert on Beyonce’s next tour, and he doesn’t make it more than one or two tugs before he’s whimpering and squirming in Jack’s grasp. He catches the ghost of a smile on Jack’s face before Jack dips again to work on the other side of Bitty’s neck. Haltingly, Bitty raises his hand to thread his fingers into Jack’s hair as he tilts his own head to the side. And _lord have mercy_ , Bitty’s not sure a camera would be good enough anymore. The connection between them, the flush dripping down Bitty’s chest, the flashes of blue when Jack glances up with voracious eyes, Bitty’s cock slickening in Jack’s grip: they should be an _oil painting_. They should be hanging in a museum. One that BItty’s family would never, ever visit.

Jack’s mouth is growing distracted, and he’s doing more watching than kissing the closer Bitty gets to orgasm. Bitty doesn’t mind. It’s making a dark thrill bloom in his belly to see how much Jack is getting off on this: his face is fierce, fond, flushed. His reflection isn’t the only clue — as Jack straightens to press his face into Bitty’s temple, he pulls Bitty closer back against his own body, and he’s hard at Bitty’s lower back. His hips twitch, once, but then Bitty can see him refocus, and his hand on Bitty’s cock speeds, shuttling over it firmly. Bitty stares dumbly at the way it makes Jack’s arm muscles flex in the mirror.

“You’re close?” Jack asks, low.

Bitty grunts out an _uh huh_ , and it’s barely words. He swallows, finds breath, and forces out a few: “So close.”

“Okay.”

Jack pumps him a little harder, and at the same time, his other arm — the one Bitty’s still holding onto like a lifeline — shifts. Bitty watches, feels, gasps as Jack drags his hand back across Bitty’s chest and scrapes his blunt thumbnail over a nipple. It zaps Bitty like electricity, draws a sharp _oh!_ from his lips, and _that’s_ hardly fair; Jack only just learned about that last night. _Bitty_ only just learned about that last night. Jack’s exhale into Bitty’s ear is shuddery, and he curls his fingers to pinch the raised peak of flesh he’s created, twists it, and that’s all it takes.

Bitty comes with a noise of strangled surprise. He comes onto the counter, into the sink, and he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut almost as soon as it starts. He comes twisting his body back against Jack’s while Jack holds him firm and upright. He comes with Jack’s gaze resting heavy on him; even without looking, Bitty can feel its weight.

Jack’s nuzzling him, dropping stray kisses in his hair and on his ear, when Bitty blinks his eyes open and slumps back. He encounters Jack’s very prominent erection just above the swell of his ass and Jack’s intense, needful expression in the mirror. Jack sways forward like he can’t help it and states the obvious: “That was hot, Bits.” It still astounds Bitty that Jack will just _say_ things like that. He doesn’t think it’s because Jack’s trying to be sexy, though; no, Bitty’s pretty sure that in Jack’s mind, he’s just stating facts.

With as loopy as he’s feeling, Bitty can’t do much more than hum in agreement. He probably should be embarrassed again, but he just can’t seem to muster up the wherewithal. Instead, he reaches a hand back to tug at the hem of Jack’s shorts, inching them down. “What about you, honey?” he murmurs. With another pull, he exposes the sharp jut of Jack’s hipbone, visible in the mirror just beyond his own.

Jack starts to make noises like he’s going to protest, like he isn’t aching to get off as much as it seems he is, but Bitty isn’t about to entertain that notion. He has an idea, in fact, one that’s almost enough to bring the heat back to his cheeks after all. And it very much requires Jack to lose his shorts, which he does at Bitty’s continued encouragement, letting them fall, then kicking them aside before stepping in close to Bitty’s body again.

 _Okay_. “What if we —” Bitty swallows, suddenly far too clear-headed and nervy “— do this?” He grips the edge of the counter for leverage, plants his feet firmly, and pops his booty.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jack’s eyes bug out quite like that before. “You want to —?”

Realization crashes in harshly. “No!” Bitty exclaims. “I mean yes. Sometime.” And then, horrifically, he starts to ramble. “And the other way. If you want to, that is! I mean, I think it’s worth trying just about everything, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jack says evenly, and Bitty can’t deal with _that_ right now.

“But not today. I just mean…” Bitty trails away. There’s a name for this; he’s sure of it, but it won’t come fully to mind, and heaven forbid he say another wrong thing in this moment. “Like this,” he finishes lamely. Jack’s a little too tall to fully demonstrate what he means, but Bitty pushes up and back again.

He hopes to heaven that Jack won’t make him actually find the words to explain. Maybe it’s a dumb idea anyway, Bitty thinks — he’s probably too short for it to work the way he’s envisioning, but oh, Jack’s — he’s widening his stance a little, bending at the knee, reaching forward to slide his arms under Bitty’s and plant his hands on the countertop. And, just like Bitty had been trying to communicate, he’s snugging his cock into the crack of Bitty’s ass and rolling his hips. “Yeah,” Bitty whispers, all breath. “That.”

Jack’s response is more grunt than anything else, and he rocks a few times, his breath hot in Bitty’s ear, before he says, “Hang on.” He reaches to the side to yank open a drawer, and whatever he grabs is out of sight behind Bitty’s back so fast that he isn’t sure if it’s lotion or actual lube, but Jack’s slicking himself up with something, and then he’s back, repositioning himself firmly.

Then their gazes lock in the mirror, and Bitty could expire on the spot at the barely-restrained fire in Jack’s expression. “Okay?” Jack asks.

Bitty braces himself. “Sweetheart. Please.”

And Jack moves. He takes slow, measured strokes to start, looking into Bitty’s eyes the whole time. It makes Bitty feel like he could burst into flames, like he could burn from the inside out, like he’s incendiary, or Jack is, or what they’re doing is. It’s not even the sensation of it — where Jack’s rubbing on him isn’t particularly pushing any buttons for Bitty. In fact, it’s just making him ache for Jack touch him a little lower, but Bitty knows _that’s_ something to ask for after some clothes-on consideration.

No, it’s not how it feels. It’s watching what Jack’s doing and knowing that it’s not that different from how it would look if Jack were really — well. Bitty’s inches away from actually doing it, he should be able to _think_ the word. It’s what it would be like to watch Jack fuck him. It’s watching what Jack’s doing to him — and what he’s doing to Jack.

Bitty’s seen Jack turned on — a few times over Skype, a few times in the dark — but none of that was quite like this. With his woeful lack of experience, Bitty has been happy to let Jack take control of the things that had happened between them so far. Bitty can see now how much he’d _kept_ control too, because doing this, he’s letting some of it go.

Jack has dropped his head a little, so he’s no longer meeting Bity’s eyes, but that just makes Bitty feel more bold in staring. Jack is so big that the outline of Bitty’s body is completely encompassed in his — he can see the broad span of Jack’s shoulders extending beyond his own, the swell of Jack’s hips and thighs, wider than Bitty’s anyway, and splayed out for leverage. They’re both moving with the rhythm of Jack’s thrusts, smooth and rolling at first, then faster and more insistent. Jack’s mouth falls open as he picks up speed, and Bitty can see the shine of wetness inside his lower lip. He now knows just what Jack feels like there, in several intimate ways.

Above that, as Bitty continues to watch, Jack’s forehead creases and his face contorts. It seems like pleasure, but Bitty feels a seed of worry that sprouts when Jack makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a grunt and Bitty thinks suddenly that it _could_ be pain.

“Honey,” Bitty gasps. It’s hard to string words or thoughts together. “Are you — is this — okay? It’s gotta be hell on your, I mean — is it too much? Your legs? If you have to skate?”

Jack huffs out a brief laugh, and in spite of the circumstances, it comes across as awfully chirpy. Bitty would be indignant, but the look Jack is giving him in the mirror is so exasperated and adoring that it dissolves like sugar in water. “I’m fine,” Jack says, and as if to prove it, he plants his feet and redoubles his efforts.

Bless Jack’s prodigious lower body strength.

Caught unprepared, Bitty is tossed forward and unexpectedly, he laughs. This is a thing that’s happening. A thing that they’re doing. Right now.

There’s another warm puff of air against his neck, and Bitty gets another bare glimpse of Jack’s smile before Jack presses his face there. He wraps one arm around Bitty’s torso and grits out, “Bits, I’m gonna…” He doesn’t finish it, but Bitty can feel the tremors running through him, can’t miss how erratic his movements are becoming.

“Okay,” he says.

Jack pulls him in hard, jerks his hips harder, and shakes apart against Bitty’s back, muffling a moan in the slope of Bitty’s shoulder. And that — Jack’s body and his cock as he orgasms — it’s all out of sight, but that Bitty can _feel_.

When Jack’s done, he slumps languidly against Bitty, nuzzles his face into Bitty’s hair. They’re braced up by Bitty’s arms and one of Jack’s, but that’s not going to support them for long if Jack won’t take his own weight. Bitty, lightheaded, chuckles and says, “You’re heavy, sweetheart.”

Grumbling, Jack straightens up, pulling Bitty with him, and he keeps Bitty cradled against his chest. “Better?”

Bitty leans into him, peeking at the mirror again to see what a perfect tableau they make. He hooks his hands over Jack’s arms and squeezes. “Hmmm, yes,” he replies, and for the most part, he’s not just better, he’s _wonderful_. He is becoming uncomfortably aware of how damp he is, sweaty over his whole body and slick with lube and come in one very specific location. But Bitty thinks he can ignore that for a few minutes longer.

“Good,” Jack says. He presses lazy kisses into Bitty’s temple, his ear, the place behind it.

It’s a comfortable moment, and Bitty spends it both basking and reeling. It’s hard to wrap his mind around the fact that this is his life now, but the evidence of it is smeared across the countertop and dripping down his leg. Speaking of which, that was — well, it was kind of kinky, wasn’t it? Bitty thinks he can call it that. They weren’t quite using handcuffs or safewords, but it wasn’t _completely_ vanilla. Maybe there was a drop or two of food coloring involved. Bitty finds himself stifling another giggle. “Well,” he says, “I guess the Better Bitty Booty Bureau was good for something.”

Jack chuckles. “Bits, I’m going to let you in on a secret.”

“What’s that, sweetpea?”

Bending down to speak the words directly into his ear, Jack says, “You have a great ass.” As if to prove his point, he snakes a hand down and squeezes one cheek.

Bitty squeaks in surprise. “I do not!”

He tries to twist in Jack’s arms, but Jack keeps him pinned. “Oh yeah? Whose opinion are you going to trust? Yours or the guy who just got off on it?”

“Jack!” Bitty gasps, scandalized, and Jack finally lets him turn, laughing. Feeling supremely overwhelmed, Bitty pokes him in the stomach, then buries his head in Jack’s chest.

For a moment, Jack just holds him, resting his chin on the top of Bitty’s bent head and stroking a hand up and down his bare back. Then, he says, “Bittle?”

Bitty makes a muffled noise into his warm skin.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Oh, Jack. Me too,” Bitty says. He leans back to smile, then up for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Link to tumblr post [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/166965570177/with-new-eyes-zimbits-fic)! Feel free to stop by and say hi. :)


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